


The Restaurant

by Markovia



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, PWP, Sex, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 14:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9389963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Markovia/pseuds/Markovia
Summary: Hermione and Tom go out for dinner. (AU - Tom is a wizard from the same era as Hermione. Basically just smut.)





	

She hadn't wanted to go out that night. It was cold, drizzling slightly and her day at work had been far from pleasant - Harry had buggered up the sequence of Runes that they had been working on and it had taken far longer to rectify than she had hoped. Tom had sent her a letter this afternoon to let her know that she needed to be home by seven. There was no other detail, or information of use, just 'be home by seven'. She had been sort-of-seeing the director of Defence Against the Dark Arts for a short while now, after meeting him at a debate in the Ministry where she worked, though she was reluctant to let him too close. When they had first met, their views clashed significantly, and after that he just kept appearing in the same places as her. He was such a difficult character, caring one minute, then possessive and demanding the next - it was always a nightmare trying to gauge what his reaction might be. She suspected him of dabbling too much with the subject matter he taught at Hogwarts; one night she had discovered a number of books on dark, blood magic in his bedside table. She hadn't confronted him about them, but made note to watch for danger, should it arise. She hadn't seen him for a week or so now, or answered the letter he sent her a few days ago. None of this was intentional, of course, she had just been busy working with Harry on these blasted Runic sequences. She had no idea why he wanted to meet her at seven, no scheduled events or plans came to mind. It would be fine, she thought, he probably just wants to get a drink in the Leaky Cauldron and talk and whatnot.

When she arrived in her apartment two hours later than expected, she hadn't expected him to be there, waiting for her. He had been leant against the kitchen table, arms crossed, legs folded at the ankle, eyes boring holes in her head. He was dressed impeccably, in a dark suit and purple button up, dark hair neatly parted - prim and proper, very Tom. Hermione began to ask what on earth he was doing there, but the way he looked down at his watch and then jerked his head towards the bedroom halted her. His stony expression told her she was in trouble.

"Get changed, now. We're going for dinner."

"What? Did we plan this?" she replied, hanging her coat up on the back of the door.

"Get changed."

"No, I'd rather stay -"

"Now."

Hermione sighed, but dragged herself to the bedroom, unwilling to question him and start a duel that would inevitably ruin her home. He didn't speak to her properly during the entire journey to dinner. The establishment they arrived at was lovely, a brand new, swanky place set up in Diagon Alley by a team of international wizards. Hermione gaped slightly at the gorgeous interior as they entered - it wasn't quite the usual, rustic pub atmosphere she had been expecting. It was quite the opposite to every other eatery in the area - modern, with sleek black tables and small, leather booths that were tucked away from the eyes of others. It was dim, too, she had noticed as they say down, she almost had to squint to see the place. One significant thing of note was that the restaurant was almost entirely populated by couples. Strange, she thought, as they sat down. They were situated in one of the private booths in the far corner of the room. Hermione smiled at the table's decoration - a small ball of fire was hovering in mid-air above the centre of the table, a wizard's interpretation of a candle-lit dinner. Hermione slid in to the booth and moved around to the far side, with Tom following to sit on the next edge. He still wasn't responding to her properly - what on Earth was wrong with him, she thought to herself.

"What wine do you think?" she asked, just as a waiter approached their table. Tom ignored her and tilted his head up to smile pleasantly at the man who stood by them.

"May I take your order?" he asked, politely, sending a wide grin to both of them. Hermione looked at the menu hurriedly, not having had the chance to read the dishes at all.

"Yes, we're having the Valentine's menu, two glasses of Prosecco and a Rioja. Oldest possible. Thank you," Tom said, taking the menu straight from her hands. As he continued to talk to the waiter, Hermione's face paled - Valentine's Day. She hadn't remembered. He had mentioned dinner the last time he left her apartment, but her head had been engrossed in a complicated translation pattern, and she'd only half heard him at the time. She'd not read the letter he sent later in the week, either. And she'd been so late home, hadn't bothered making an effort…Damn, damn, damn. The waiter left them, and Tom swivelled to gaze at Hermione, who tensed under the harshness of his gaze. He must have been genuinely upset with her for ruining his plans, but there was no need to act like a brat.

"I'm sorry I forgot about all this, Tom," she began, halting when the waiter arrived back with their drinks and a bread basket. He seemed to notice the tension between the couple, because he settled the glasses, bottles and bread down and shuffled back into the darkness of the restaurant with great haste. Tom still didn't register her apology, and slid the glass of sparkling wine closer to her, taking a sip of his own in the process. The waiter returned once more with the menu Tom had ordered. It smelt glorious - a large skillet of paella, filled with large king prawns, scallops and mussels, and a variety of side dishes to compliment the Spanish theme. Paella had been her favourite dish for a long time, brought on by various visits to Spain and the covered market in Covent Garden. She was surprised that Tom had remembered that fact. Hermione smiled at the waiter as he left, a smile that quickly vanished when she saw Tom staring at her over the top of his drink.

"Right. Fine. I apologised, I am sorry I forgot, but I've had an awfully busy week at work. There is no need for you to act like a stubborn ox and make the entire evening unpleasant, Tom!" she snapped, snatching up the glass in her hand. The bubbles tickled the inside of her mouth as she took a large gulp, shuddering slightly at the strong aftertaste.

Tom's glare intensified in the darkness of the room. Hermione pouted slightly, irritated more than apologetic now, and reached for the serving spoon. His hand shot out suddenly, and grabbed her wrist, halting her action. She looked back at him, anger, and a hint of worry, in her eyes.

"Stubborn ox?" he repeated, in an emotionless tone. He pulled her wrist around and she was forced closer to him in the corner of the booth, her legs banging against his under the table. When she let out a small squeal, Tom wandlessly cast Silencing and Notice-Me-Not Charms around the booth. They were almost entirely hidden from view anyway, but he didn't want her to make a scene and catch the attention of others - not that Hermione noticed this action, she was took pre-occupied with trying to wrench her wrist from his tight grip.

"Let go, Tom! You're hurting me," she hissed, failing to shake him off.

His face finally moved from that emotionless mask as a dark smirk made its way over his lips. "Sit still, Hermione," he said sharply, as an order.

The witch let out an angry huff, but stilled her thrashing. He nodded at her and finally let go of her wrist. "There's a good girl. Better to be obedient, don't you think?"

"Better to be obedient? What sort of fucki-"

"Language, we're in a restaurant. If we get kicked out because of your bad behaviour I will be severely peeved," Tom said, reaching back down to pick up his glass.

"My behaviour?!" she cried, indignantly. "You're the one who can't even smile, or act properly around his own…"

She trailed off, not quite knowing how to finish her sentence. His own what? Not girlfriend, but - well, she didn't fuck her friends every now and then. Initially she her opposition to Tom manifested itself in trying to insult him, belittle him, essentially the same way he acted towards her. For some reason though, she couldn't stop engaging him in conversation - he was intelligent, he matched her knowledge in some subjects, and far surpassed her in others. He infuriated her because he was, more often than not, right about things. She visited Hogwarts often, to give talks in Ancient Runes for NEWT students (who were rare, these days, as the art was no longer deemed necessary) and found herself in his company on plenty of occasions. After a particularly heated row over the ethics of the Unbreakable Vow, which was enhanced by the consumption of half a decanter of Firewhiskey, he had shoved her against the wall of his office and bruised her lips with a kiss.

They fucked, hard, against his desk. Tom was animalistic, he gripped her hair hard in his fist, bit down on her skin hard enough to break through, pounded her relentlessly, as if he were trying to tear her in two. Hard enough, in fact, that Hermione shouted at him afterwards for his brutality, for the scratches and open marks he had left over her body, the way he had held her down and closed his hand around her throat when she came. He had been gentle with her, after that, he apologised, said he blamed it on the alcohol and the influence of the argument. He hadn't touched her since then, their meetings consisted solely of intellectual debate and normal conversation. Something was strange though, Hermione found herself constantly replaying that memory in her mind as he sat and talked with her. It plagued her dreams and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't shake the vision from her head.

During the moment he held her wrist tightly, that strange feeling in her stomach resurfaced. She desperately tried to ignore it, despising herself for longing for his touch again.

"I thought this would be what you wanted. You wanted romance, all that nonsense, didn't you? I've tried recently, I really have, but it seems you'd rather spend time with Potter than me."

Hermione tensed as he moved closer to her again, his hand clenching around her thigh.

"People say romance is dead," he hissed, leaning in to her ear.

"Tom, I-"

"Don't expect these niceties again." His hand slid further up her leg, reaching the hem of her black dress, and his head moved lower, lips lingering momentarily on her the sensitive spot below her ear.

"Tom?" she gasped, as he bit her skin lightly. "Look, I know I work a lot but it's more important than-"

He bit down harder, causing her to cry out quietly. "More important than me?" he growled, pushing the hemline of her dress upwards, so it settled on her hips. Hermione stiffened and made to pull it back down, but found her hands immediately pinned to the back of the leather seat by an invisible force.

"Because I don't like that, at all. I don't like that you care more about books, and runes, and Potter, than you do about me."

"Tom, that's not the case at all, you know I like - "

"That very much is the case, darling. I haven't seen hide nor hair of you for weeks now."

"I've been working on a proje-" she began, eyes widening as she felt his hand creep higher up her leg. His fingers trailed lightly up her inner thigh, almost to her knickers, before stroking back down to her knee. He repeated the action as he spoke, enjoying the way she flinched at the sensation.

"Yes, this elusive project," he replied, lips still soft and warm against her neck.

"Stop interrupting me! And stop this, Tom, we're in public!" she snapped, in a hushed tone, not realising he had previously shielded them from prying eyes and ears.

"No," he said, bluntly, running a finger gently down the centre of her knickers. She shuddered at the feeling, her eyes darting to the darkness of the room in panic. "No, I will not stop. You need to learn, Hermione, about this - our 'relationship'. You are mine, you belong to me - I demand respect, obedience. You will learn your place tonight."

Hermione frowned and opened her mouth to speak, but was cut off when his fingers pulled her knickers to one side and ran lightly over her. He rubbed her cunt harder, roughly, then brought three fingers up to her mouth and plunged them inside. Tom smiled as he checked the room around them - no-one had even registered their presence at the table, let alone his actions. But he would milk the fear of being seen as far as he could.

"I tried to be nice, because you claimed you wanted it. But that was a lie, wasn't it? So, no more nice."

Hermione struggled, but was unable to get her hands from the invisible shackles tethering her in place. She shut her legs around his hand, only to have them pulled apart by his other arm. He plunged his fingers deeper into her throat, until she gagged slightly, then moved them back down to her sex, smiling into the skin of her neck when he felt wetness trickling from her.

"But then, I've always known you don't like 'nice', Hermione. I know you secretly adore the dark, the twisted. You like it better when I hold you down, use you, don't you? You prefer it when I'm like this, because it makes rationalising the pleasure so much easier if you can think 'he forced me to do it'."

Hermione moaned as he traced her clit with his fingers, drawing hard and firm circles around it at an agonisingly slow pace. She let out a whimper, and began to close her legs again, but he halted her by landing a hard slap to her cunt.

"Fuck!" she yelped, clit tingling from the force of the hit.

"Language, language," he tutted, hand back to stroking her gently. He teased her with feather-light touches for what seemed like hours, until she was almost on the verge of exploding. Finally, he dipped his hand lower and entered her swiftly with two fingers.

"You're wet through already, darling," he whispered, lips kissing the outer rim of her ear between words. Hermione blushed deeply at his statement and began to shake when he began pumping his fingers in and out of her at a rapid pace. "You cannot lie to me, Hermione, I know you prefer me like this."

Hermione shook her head weakly, moaning again when he curled his fingers upwards inside of her. He began thrusting his digits in and out of her at a more brutal rate, adding a third finger shortly after. The girl let out a low cry, slightly pained at the feeling of being so stretched, not that he noticed, or cared.

"N-no, Tom, I don't. Please -"

"Please what?" he murmured, as he kissed her quivering bottom lip.

"Stop," she ground out, hoarsely. Part of her meant it, he was hurting her, shaming her in front of everyone else here, she felt used and dirty and…and so overwhelmed by the pleasure that immediately after her short plea, she let out a wanton groan and pressed herself deeper onto his hand.

Tom smiled against her cheek, and chuckled darkly. "Why?" he asked, stilling his movements suddenly. He pulled back from her neck and looked at her questioningly, though he never removed his fingers from their position inside of her. He felt her muscles clench around him as she tried to bring back the pleasure he had halted. Her dazed eyes looked up at him, her cheeks flushed and lips rosy from his kisses.

"Why, what?" she replied, panting. She tried to lift her hips slightly, but his other hand held her down.

"Why don't you just admit that you like this - that this is satisfying that craving you've had since the time I screwed you over my teaching desk. I see the way you look at me, my hands in particular. What is it about them that fascinates you so?"

Hermione gasped as he moved said fingers, curling them up, just the once, to tantalise her senses. "They're - they're - the way you touched my neck."

"I see," he said, amusement in his voice.

He moved closer to her and curled his free hand around her neck. Hermione jumped and closed her eyes at the feeling, as Tom rested his forehead against the side of hers. His fingers began moving inside of her again, faster and deeper than before, and his thumb swept up to circle over her swollen clit with each stroke.

"You show everyone in this restaurant who you belong to," he murmured, tightening his grip on her throat slightly. She gasped in as much air as possible, the feeling of light-headedness enhancing the other sensations coursing through her ten-fold.

"T-Tom, please-"

"Say it."

"Say what?" she replied, weakly, back arching as she desperately tried to gain release. Tom slowed his movements considerably, and she let out an aggravated growl.

"Say you're mine."

Hermione paused, panting slightly. Tom pressed a kiss to the side of her cheek, then hissed, "Say it."

"I belong to no-one," she replied, turning her head to look at him dead on. His smug expression faltered, lips sinking into a frown.

There was a moment of silence between the couple for a moment, then Tom moved his hand for a final stroke and pinched her clit hard between his fingers. Euphoria and pain were inseperable as she came hard onto his hand, her body twisted as much as it could under his grip and a strangled moan left her mouth.

Tom moved back away from her and wiped his hands delicately on a napkin, before moving to serve himself a large portion of paella. Hermione stared at him, breathing deeply, a sheen of sweat across her face. He smiled back at her nonchalantly, and gestured to the food, silently releasing the bonds around her wrists and the wards around them.

"I'm not yours," she said, pushing herself back up to a straight-backed position. She tugged her dress down to her knees and grimaced slightly as she felt moisture pool between her thighs.

"I know. But you will be, soon," he replied, winking devilishly as he raised his glass back up to his lips.

"What makes you say that?" she snarled, snatching up her fork and stabbing a piece of squid.

"Because, Hermione, we both know you can use wandless magic. You could have stopped me if you really, really wanted to," he said, tilting his head, as a new smirk appeared on his face.

Hermione stiffened - he was right. She could have blasted the bastard to the other side of the room, but she hadn't. She hadn't wanted him to stop. This was the feeling she'd been craving ever since their first time together. But, of course, she couldn't let him know that. Instead, she snorted and picked up her glass and downed the contents quickly.

"I hate you," she hissed.

"And I you, darling," he replied. He leant over to her and pressed his lips against hers in a far gentler, slower kiss. "Happy Valentine's Day."

"Fuck you."


End file.
